


Just Have Hope

by kartashyov



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human Names Used, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood, Mpreg, Past Miscarriage, Romance, description of miscarriage, gerita in the background, lovi swears like a sailor, not too graphic but it's there, ~emotions~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5914333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kartashyov/pseuds/kartashyov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The seasons change, and so does Lovino. With the promise of a second chance, can Antonio help him find hope once more?</p>
<p>(Sorta emotional, but ends happily. Bad summary is bad.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Have Hope

The riverbank was drier than usual, the remaining vegetation limping in a disorderly fashion, calling out towards the heavens to provide them with more nourishment. It had been a hot summer, alright; one that prevented most people in being able to see the beauty of the riverbank on a day like this, when the surrounding grasses were brown and crunchy like rope and the sun reflecting off the river made the body of water out to be more sauna-esque than truly refreshing.

Amidst the decaying remnants of summer lay two men outstretched on a picnic blanket, resting after a small lunch of tossed salad and pasta packed in tight Tupperware containers. A bottle of wine, its cork popped off somewhere in the browning grass, lay lazily rested against the picnic basket, the Spaniard’s right hand outstretched in its direction. His other hand was interlaced with his husband’s, the Italian, who, whether from exhaustion or from feeling full, had dozed off into a somewhat tranquil sleep, used to the rays of the hot sun beating down on his olive-toned skin.

Antonio smiled down at him, admiring how peaceful he looked when he wasn’t awake to yell at him or his brother or anyone who looked at him the wrong way. Lovino had a feisty spirit that was easily unleashed, and it was one of the things Antonio loved the most about him—his cheeks would swell up and turn as a red as a tomato, and curse words began flowing out of his mouth like the bubbles a child blows at play. For most people anger wasn’t a default emotion, but Lovino’s perpetually fiery moods were his trademark.

Well, at least they used to be. Not since six months ago, anyway.

“What are you looking at?” Lovino suddenly remarked, apparently having awoken from his siesta after sensing his husband hovering above him.

“Nothing, _mi amor_. Just your lovely face, that’s all!”

Rolling his eyes in a succinct fashion, Lovino half-rolled up and winced at the sound of his back cracking in response. He blinked several times, taking in the scenery and adjusting himself back to being alive, and grumbled in response, “Let’s get out of here. It’s so ugly, everything’s dead.”

Antonio clucked his tongue at Lovino’s tone and petted the dying grass affectionately. “Nothing here is dead…it’s just not the right timing. It’s very hot this year, and it’s in the dead of summer…give it a few months and it’ll be all green and lively again. Just like it was when you and I used to come here and sit on the banks and wade our feet in the water…when we fell in love.” Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Antonio beamed down at his slightly shorter love, hoping to light a spark of tenderness back into his heart.

“Don’t be so sappy,” Lovino glared back at him, shrugging the hand off and quickly jumping into a standing position. Starting to roll up the picnic blanket before Antonio had even managed to get off of it, Lovino made it clear that the date was over and it was time to go home, back to the normal routine where he would continue to bottle his emotions over everything that happened and keep unusually quiet, no matter how much Antonio tried to prompt him into conversation, whether it be casual or more serious. With yet another defeated sigh, Antonio made no move to stop his husband, getting out of his way to allow him to finish packing up without complaint. That was another thing he had noticed; Lovino normally hated cleaning up. But nowadays, if it involved postponing any conversation of worth, he would take to the kitchen and scrub the floor for hours, until his knuckles bled from his efforts. It didn’t matter; to Lovino, it didn’t hurt as much as talking would.

\--

It came as a surprise to Antonio the day Lovino initiated the conversation, after he had been trying for months. Sure, he wasn’t the one who had physically lost the baby, but he felt okay enough to start talking about their options—trying again, or looking at something else, or maybe putting it aside for a while—within a few weeks or so. Lovino was, apparently, much more fragile about the subject than Antonio had expected. As someone who could be very crass and often socially inept at dealing with his feelings, which included many instances of the hot-blooded Italian yelling at his younger brother for being foolish, kicking his brother in-law for existing in general, and losing his mind at the local market grocer for being out of tomatoes, when something was on Lovino’s mind, Antonio was usually the first one privy to that information.

And yet still, months after it had happened, Lovino had virtually clammed shut, refusing to reveal how he felt. Antonio knew that it hadn’t passed without its effects on his husband; at first, Lovino had cried for days, letting his tears drench the front of Antonio’s shirt to the point where he was becoming dehydrated. After the initial few moments of obvious suffering, Lovino had shut himself in their bedroom for nearly a week, refusing to get out of bed and to eat more than a few crackers or a glass of water. Not even a hearty dish of pasta could rouse him from his bedrest. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity to Antonio, Lovino descended the staircase one morning, one drowsy step at a time, and appeared to be ready to rejoin the world, pouring a cup of coffee as if nothing had changed and as if he hadn’t been bedridden for multiple days. And although he appeared to be the normal Lovino—eating pasta, taking siestas, cursing his brother over the phone now that he and Ludwig had moved to Germany—Antonio could see that something had changed in him. The electric twinkle that flashed in his eyes ever so often, in moments of intense rage or undying passion, was no longer there—it was as if the life had been ripped out of him. A metaphor which, Antonio realized with a shudder, held added weight to it.

And that’s how it had been for the past six months. Nothing but the seasons had changed, giving Antonio plenty to ramble on about in the few conversations he could manage to hold Lovino’s attention in. He resisted suggesting counseling in the hopes that Lovino would eventually find his voice again, wherever it managed to hide itself deep in his heart, and become the vocally engaged Italian he had always been.

Apparently Antonio’s persistent hopefulness paid off. It was a regular Saturday afternoon, which for the Fernandez-Carriedo’s involved relaxing and putting work aside. Antonio was sitting at the kitchen table reading a travel magazine, silently memorizing hotspot destinations with the distant thought of surprising Lovino with a vacation, when the home phone began to chime sharply. Lovino looked up from the pasta he was cooking with a slightly disdainful expression, wondering who dared to bother him during his moments of solitude in the kitchen as he wiped a damp hand on his green apron and reached over to answer the receiver. “ _Buongiorno_ , what do you want? Oh, Feliciano, it’s just you…what’s the matter with you, did that damn German do something again like try and feed you his gross potatoes or…oh, wait, what was that? …hm, you don’t say.”

As Lovino grew increasingly quiet, Antonio turned his attention to his husband, watching as he leaned against the wall and glanced distantly towards the steam rising from the boiling water. He could hear Feliciano going on loudly about something over the phone’s speaker, but he couldn’t make out exact words. Lovino extended a hand, almost ghost-like, towards the countertop beside him, nearly grabbing onto it to hold himself up before standing straight once more. “I…I’ve got to go, _fratello_. My pasta…I’ll call you later.” Lovino suddenly hung the phone up and resumed his position at the stovetop, as if nothing had just happened, the phone resting back into its home looking no different than before.

Antonio knew better than to prompt Lovino for answers nowadays. He continued to read his magazine, although less intently, until Lovino pressed neat plates of pasta Bolognese in front of their table settings, eventually removing his apron and hanging it on a hook in the kitchen right next to a photo of them on their wedding day—Lovino’s least favorite, a candid that caught him smiling at Antonio—before taking his seat next to his husband. The closeness between them was usually enough to warrant Antonio an excuse to grab Lovino’s hand and squeeze his palm reassuringly, but this time he held back, wondering if his silence would do a better job at getting answers from the man who had become intensely silent.

Sure enough, after a few moments of mindless eating, Lovino set down his fork and coughed slightly, forgetting to cover his mouth. “That was Feliciano.”

Antonio resisted the urge to inform Lovino that he had been there the whole time and knew who the caller was. “Really? How is he?”

Lovino took a drink of water as a calm expression glazed over his face, even his eyebrows, which were normally defaultingly jagged in irritation. “He’s okay. Um, he’s pregnant. He and Ludwig…you know, they’re pregnant.”

Antonio tried to suppress the soft gasp that arose in his throat, but his resolve wasn’t quite strong enough. He ignored the slight glare he received and feigned shock once more, saying, “Oh, seriously? Wow! That’s great news.”

Picking up his fork again and swirling it around his plate in an uncharacteristic manner of uncertainty, Lovino once more retreated into silence; the announcement was all that was necessary, as his own opinion took too much effort. Antonio was surprised, as he imagined that Lovino would be irate at the idea that Ludwig, whom Lovino detested for no particularly good reason, had knocked up his baby brother. Clearly he felt something—he wouldn’t be stirring his precious pasta into oblivion if he didn’t—but his dense nature as of late didn’t reveal much of his inner thought process, Antonio relented with a minor sigh.

But he didn’t want to give up that easy. Deciding to go out on a limb, Antonio reached over and placed a longing hand on Lovino’s trembling one, his body almost anticipating the words about to come out of Antonio’s mouth. “You know, _mi cielo_ , we could always try again.”

What normally ended with Lovino yelling in a rarer display of pent-up anger or otherwise getting up and walking away from the conversation entirely instead took on an anxious edge, as Lovino resembled a schoolboy outside the principal’s office awaiting his punishment. He appeared genuinely terrified as he whispered softly, “…but it won’t work.”

Antonio brought Lovino’s captive hand to his lips and pressed a kiss as light as a butterfly’s touch to his knuckles, still lightly bruised from his last cleaning spree. “We don’t know that for sure. The doctor said everything was fine to try again, that there was nothing wrong…so we just have to do what we can and have hope, and that’s all we can do.”

Seemingly cracking at the surface, Lovino stood up from his creaking kitchen chair and moved to sit gently in Antonio’s lap, resting his head against the Spaniard’s tanned collarbone. While the normal Lovino had an emotional spectrum ranging from enraged to tired, vulnerability was a feeling he rarely possessed, let alone expressed. Burying his face as far into Antonio’s neck as he possibly could, Lovino mumbled, “I want this so badly, Tonio…”

Antonio held him tighter as he felt Lovino crash into him, keeping a lingering smile from ever hitting his face. Instead, he merely nodded against his love, repeating softly, “Just have hope.” After what seemed to be an eternity, the pieces of Lovino had slowly started putting themselves back together.

\--

It wasn’t as straightforward as Antonio had hoped for, of course; the pieces of Lovino did not easily fit back together like old friends. They were going to take time, patience, and hope, as did everything else in life. Antonio was great at waiting; he had waited seven years for Lovino to agree to go on a date with him, and another three years after that to have Lovino accept his proposal (which, incidentally, Antonio initiated on their first date). He could wait a lifetime for Lovino if he had to—he practically already had.

As the summer faded into autumn, sending a flurry of leaves every which way, Antonio regarded the passing weeks with more and more apprehension. Now that they were actively trying again, both Antonio and Lovino were more in tune with the latter’s habits than either had ever been. Every headache, extended siesta, or even general crankiness was considered a symptom in both pairs of eager eyes, but as these ailments seemed to last no more than a few hours they couldn’t be counted as a solid positive.

It didn’t happen right away, which annoyed Lovino to no end the first time they tried to get pregnant. The ever-impatient and demanding Italian whined almost daily, “ _Mio dio_ , this is taking forever! Damnit Antonio, can’t you make your fucking sperm swim faster or something? Clearly they’re just as lazy as you are, bastard!”

The second time around, the wait was even more anxiety-inducing, with all the extra attention placed on him turning Lovino into a bit of a nervous wreck. He developed a slight jump at various household noises he was previously acquainted with like the cycles of the dishwasher, and began dropping dishes more and more frequently, the ghost of expectation to perform and deliver (at one point, quite literally) controlling his every move.

Antonio did his part to rid their home of bad spirits by remaining as calm and cheerful as ever, assuring Lovino that it took a few months sometimes (just as it had last time, although he refrained from mentioning this) and that his worries could easily be directed elsewhere, such as for cooking or for gardening or for their frequent lovemaking these days. It wasn’t helping the situation that Feliciano was blissfully expectant, without a problem in sight, apparently without even trying as Ludwig admitted in an exhausted tone during one particular visit. Lovino watched with slight horror and utter annoyance as his brother slowly grew a wee bit chubbier over the windy months, taking a larger interest in napping for much of the day (more than he already was) and filling up on previously inane amounts of pizza, pasta, and, to Lovino’s disgust, potatoes.

As the windy months grew chillier and chillier, the tension building in the Fernandez-Carriedo house was mounting, and the amount of plates Lovino had accidentally shattered from dropping them was multiplying. The Italian had taken to adapting a nervous trembling that was initially interpreted as a reaction to the cooling weather, but even the addition of a small space heater in their living room made no difference to his temperament. The waiting was getting to him, alright. It was no different than when he used to sit outside in their garden in the spring, or at his most desperate even the winter, and watch the tomato plants, dead after a summer’s harvest, hoping that they would come back to life again and bring him the tomatoes he desired. Of course, with the tomatoes, Lovino could be assured that they would come back—another baby, Antonio realized, was not as foolproof.

When it happened, it was subtle, much like growing taller or getting fatter. It started in the afternoons, when Lovino found it harder and harder to feel the drive to stay awake. His siestas increased by a matter of fifteen, then thirty, and eventually forty-five minutes before he would rise from his slumber and still claim he was much too tired to do any substantial work. Antonio felt a twinge in his heart, but he said nothing, waiting for Lovino to take the lead.

It was apparent that Lovino wasn’t so easily convinced. Even after his senses began to heighten—he yelled downstairs, “I don’t want paella tonight, you bastard!” after Antonio had only just taken the shrimp out to be defrosted—he didn’t seem to feel it was enough to warrant any sort of celebration or even confirmation. It was only after he started throwing up randomly, although it was never much more than a quick two-minute toilet affair before he had gagged up a little water mixed with stomach juices, before he began to get suspicious. He sauntered down the stairs one morning, fresh out of the shower with his hair still wrapped half-heartedly in a towel, and announced to Antonio calmly, as if it were the least important of his worries, “I made an appointment to see the doctor tomorrow.”

Antonio looked up from his newspaper and couldn’t resist breaking out into a wide smile, making Lovino instantly regret including him in the process. “Oh, Lovi! Do you really think—“

“No, I don’t think it’s actually true. It’s probably one of those ghost pregnancies, you know, where you want to be pregnant so bad your body tricks you into thinking you are? Anyway, it doesn’t matter all that much. I’m going tomorrow and I…I don’t want you coming with me.”

Antonio frowned suddenly and decided the newspaper was no longer worth an ounce of his attention, setting it on to the table without haste. Why didn’t Lovino want him to come? If he was pregnant, which he most certainly was, wouldn’t he want Antonio there to share the moment with him? After all, it was Antonio’s baby too. It was their baby; they should be there together.

“And I’m not fighting with you on this,” Lovino muttered in response, noticing Antonio’s shoulders shift upwards just enough to see he was ready to go on the offensive. “I don’t want anybody’s hopes to get up, or whatever. Okay? What did you make me for breakfast?”

Just like that, the conversation was over. Antonio stood up with a small sigh, frustrated that Lovino still wouldn’t let him in, but he knew it couldn’t be for much longer; as soon as Lovino could be reassured that he was going to have a perfectly healthy baby, Antonio knew he would be able to relax for the first time in months.

\--

Antonio tried to busy himself that morning with household chores, little things that not even a changed Lovino would do such as separating the recycling and vacuuming under the furniture, but he couldn’t help but glance at the door every time he thought he heard the slightest of noises. Today was going to be a good day; today Lovino was going to find out that he was with child, and he would hopefully come straight home and fall into Antonio’s arms, sleepily whispering sweet nothings as he floated above mere mortals in a state of pre-baby bliss. He knew it was ambitious, especially for Lovino, but hey, a man could dream.

When Lovino finally bounded through the front door just before noon, Antonio quickly looked him over to examine changes in mood or outer appearance. There were none—Lovino looked just as crass as always as he thrashed off his long cable-knit scarf, throwing his keys onto the wooden table with a revealing crash as he always did. He kicked his polished boots off near the shoe collection they had accumulated by the front door walkway, which included Antonio’s running shoes, his own gardening slippers, and a pair of sandals that Feliciano once borrowed when visiting the Spanish beaches.

Practicing precise patience, Antonio waited on a tightrope above a canyon as Lovino took his time setting down a folder onto the kitchen counter, washing his hands (which took longer than usual because he struggled to find a good temperature between ice cold and boiling hot on the faucet), and taking his normal seat next to his Spanish husband at the table, digging into the arroz con pollo before managing to even say a single word. Antonio initially thought this meant he had bad news—maybe he was right about the whole ghost pregnancy thing—but halfway through, Lovino set down his utensil and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “God, I was fucking starving.”

Unwillingly, Antonio’s façade cracked. “Are you pregnant?”

Turning to glare daggers into his husband’s skull, Lovino shuffled uncomfortably in the wooden chair he was sitting in. He took forever to answer the question, almost causing Antonio to believe the death stare was in some way an answer, before he finally sighed and mumbled, “That’s what they told me, anyway.”

Fireworks exploded in Antonio’s heart, but he tried to keep cool for Lovino’s sake. “ _Mi amor, nosotros vamos a tener un bebe?_ ”

“Don’t speak in Spanish, idiot. And what does it matter? It’s not going to last.”

The words sharply delivered from Lovino’s mouth caused Antonio to drop his own fork entirely, his dreams of a loving Lovi slipping farther away from his mind. “Lovino! Why would you say that?”

Turning away to avoid the Spaniard’s non-judgmental but still equally heavy gaze, Lovino fumbled with his fingers and struggled to find the right words, something he was usually excellent at doing, even if the words he found weren’t always appropriate ones. “Antonio, come on. It’s just not going to happen. Do I have to spell it out for you? You remember last time!”

“ _Ay Dios_ , Lovino, you remember what the doctor said! It was an error of nature, not a problem with you or me…they said you could go on to have a perfectly healthy pregnancy.” It was true, after all—the miscarriage, although considered somewhat late term at 16 weeks, happened because of a problem with the placenta failing to attach fully—it was rare, the doctor explained, but it happened, and it was no reason to panic about future prospects. It was a different situation then if Lovino had, say, miscarried much earlier or failed to get pregnant at all.

“It doesn’t matter!” Lovino yelled suddenly, taking a defiant stand from his wobbling seat and backing away towards the wall in a huff. “It’ll go away, just like the last one. What’s the point in celebrating something you know is going to die! I don’t even remember why we bothered trying again.”

“Don’t say that!” Antonio tried to hold back his anger, but he felt shreds of it mixing in with his worry and concern. “You just have to hope that everything is going to be alright. You have to love it, and take care of yourself, and get enough rest, and everything will work out just fine. Just trust m-“

“Feliciano said he felt his baby kick yesterday,” Lovino choked out roughly, his face turned away towards the staircase and shadowed by his choppy hair as Antonio noticed a single tear begin to roll down his olive-tinted cheek. “I never got to feel our baby kick. Not once. How can I put myself through this again?”

Antonio didn’t have time to answer the question, whether rhetorical or not, as Lovino wasted no time retreating up the stairs, accompanying his leave with a shattering slam of the bedroom door. Bending over tiredly to pick up the fork he had previously dropped, Antonio remained slumped over towards the ground for a few seconds longer, internally crushed knowing that even though Lovino was pregnant, he still refused to believe it would end happily. He didn’t know what else he could do. How can you convince someone who believes the world is going to end that it’ll go on for another lifetime? Perhaps you can’t, Antonio thought. Perhaps you can just have hope.

\--

Autumn faded into winter, stripping the trees entirely naked and covering Spain in a blanket of colder temperatures. The sun still shined in the winter months, and it rarely if ever snowed, but it didn’t mean that the Spanish were free entirely from winter’s grasp. The Fernandez-Carriedo’s responded appropriately, bringing out the heavier blankets from the dusty storage closet and tending to their delicate plants during the colder season. Before the thought of kids had ever crossed their minds, Lovino once remarked, “I treat the plants better than I treat you, you son of a bitch, and I always will.”

Antonio normally found Lovino’s temper to be quite charming, especially since he knew that he rarely meant it, but lately Lovino’s anger was coming from a different place in his heart, one of desperation and loneliness. Antonio knew this, and tried to support him anyway he could, which mostly entailed him remaining silent about the issues he knew they should have been talking about. Even as the weeks went on, Lovino still refused to believe that they were having a baby. Nothing about his daily routine changed, other than slightly longer naps and slightly larger meals. He operated on the assumption that any changes happening to his body, including an aversion to all seafood as of late and an increasing amount of headaches, could be attributed to the changing weather and had nothing to do with the fact that he was growing another person inside of him. The only time he managed to show any sort of emotion regarding his mental state other than anger or indifference was late at night, when he drew himself tight into Antonio’s arms and pinched his eyes shut, afraid to wake up for the fear that everything would come to an end. Antonio did what he knew best and just held onto him, occasionally whispering to him in Spanish or pressing petite kisses to his forehead, hoping to soothe his Italian into a deep and restful slumber free of the nightmares and anxieties that awaited him.

And so business passed as usual and not much had truly changed. By Christmas time, Lovino was nearly 10 weeks pregnant, which was still relatively early. This was a good thing for Lovino, because it meant he could still dress in tight clothing without getting annoying comments from passersby, something he realized he rather detested during his first pregnancy when the beginning outline of a bump could be spotted through his dress shirts.

But being as far along as he was, Lovino didn’t have to worry about these woes as he and Antonio went to Mass the night before Christmas. Hand in hand, the two listened intently to the service despite the troubles that never seemed to leave either’s mind. Antonio worried incessantly about Lovino’s refusal to accept the baby, while Lovino spent his days dawdling around the house almost waiting for everything to be over. Neither was as well-rested as they normally were, and the tension that had clouded over their home during the long waiting period only seemed to grow larger. Antonio’s messages of hope didn’t seem to fully translate.

Mass was always a reflection on how the year that fell before them had played out—what went well, what didn’t go so well, what could be done with the promise of a new year, a blank slate. Lovino fixed his gaze to the cathedral’s floor, his heart feeling unusually heavy for such a cheerful holiday. He could feel Antonio’s hand in his own, as solid and weighted as a rock, and he felt his heart sink in disappointment as the tide of the previous year washed over him. For the new year, he wished for only one thing: _I hope Antonio and I will make it, because he’s all I have._

Unbeknownst to Lovino, Antonio had only one thing on his mind as well: _I want Lovi to have hope again._

\--

Time marched on steadily to the beat of a broken drum, its hollow, darkening sound resonating deeply in the Fernandez-Carriedo home. As Christmas decorations were taken down and packed back into boxes and holiday presents were opened and stuffed into closets, Lovino continued to survive in a state of blissful ignorance. More often than not he found himself rejecting more and more of his brother’s phone calls, with the lame excuse to Antonio of, “Don’t judge me, I’m too tired to hear him go on about whatever,” when they both knew it was because Lovino couldn’t bear the thought of how happy and healthy his brother’s baby was compared to his own. Antonio simply nodded curtly and managed a small smile, turning away to frown tiredly knowing that his Lovino was hurting and there was nothing he could do to help him.

Occasional bursts of rain spread crackling drops of water onto the sturdy rooftop, ricocheting off with clinking sounds that made Antonio wonder if children were throwing small coins at his house. These were the things he noticed during the evening; the small, unheard of sounds that generally passed without merit, but Antonio thought they were deserving of some recognition. In the background, there was the rolling of the comforter from their guest bedroom during the rinse cycle of the washing machine, sloshing around the soapy concoction of water slowly as it was so large and heavy. Lovino had put it in not too long ago, finding nothing better to do with his time than clean a room that hadn’t been used in months and probably wouldn’t be for a long time as Feliciano’s days were soon to be occupied. Speaking of Lovino, Antonio could hear his husband shuffling around bare-footed in the kitchen, likely fixing himself an evening snack. The sounds of the cupboards opening and closing as Lovino rifled around for the perfect treat made Antonio smile a little bit; at least, if anything, food still made him happy.

The smile was short-lived after a different sound quite literally popped Antonio’s thought bubble. Something had just popped, alright—a chilling popping sound, almost as if it were a bottle of wine that had just been opened. Trying to fight off concern, Antonio decided to go check it out anyway, figuring that he could always just pretend he was hungry too if Lovino questioned him.

Slinking over towards the kitchen, Antonio nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of Lovino, pouring a wine glass full of what looked to be a bottle of merlot from their wine cabinet. The drawer had gone widely unopened as of late, with Antonio feeling much too on edge to even think about drinking around Lovino. Naturally, it came as quite a shock that Lovino, without an ounce of concern in his cinnamon-tinged eyes, apparently had no qualms about downing a bottle during his pregnancy.

“What are you doing?!” Antonio attempted, weakly, to hide the disappointment and confusion stirring in his chest, but he knew as his voice openly cracked and rose without his doing that he had already lost that battle.

As if it were just any old day and Antonio was being his normal aloof self, Lovino looked up at his husband with a raised eyebrow and groaned softly. “What do you mean, what am I doing? Bastard, I’m eating, what does it look like?”

“But you…you’re drinking!”

Lovino managed a small laugh that was layered with an undertone of exasperation. “Yeah, sometimes when people eat things, they also drink something too! _Allora,_ Antonio, I swear sometimes you’re not right in the head.”

“Lovino,” Antonio uttered lowly, his usually blissfully compliant attitude melting like chocolate on a sweltering sidewalk into a tone that was much firmer and authoritative. “You’re not supposed to drink when you’re pregnant.”

The Italian shook his head in annoyance and turned away from Antonio’s hard glance, refusing to feel the guilt that his eyes were boring down into him. “Bastard. I already told you, it doesn’t matter. How many more times do I have to say it? It’ll all be over in a few weeks, anyway.” Without a second thought, Lovino picked up the half-full glass in a swift motion, the only sound that could be picked up in the deathly silent kitchen being the ticking of the clock preparing to announce a new hour.

“Lovino!” Antonio yelled this time, causing the Italian to jump a little and spill some of the wine on the floor. Antonio felt himself cringing; he had never yelled at his Lovino before. Sure, Lovino had his moments, where his rage bordered on upsetting and his insults seemed rather personal, but Antonio could generally chalk it up to Lovino’s own insecurities. This time, even though he knew it was directly related to Lovino being insecure—that he was unable to have children, that this pregnancy was a waste of time, that he would have to go through heartbreak all over again—Antonio couldn’t sit back and watch him take it out on himself so blatantly.

The effect seemed to work on Lovino; eyes glittering with tears, he set the glass back down on the counter and folded his hands in his lap, seemingly unsure of what his next move was. Any thought of getting into a verbal argument with his husband was off the table, because Lovino didn’t want that. He only yelled at him normally because Antonio took it rather cheerfully, understanding where his anger came from. When it was Antonio who was doing the yelling, the tables had turned.

Antonio let out a tension-filled sigh and ran a hand through his moderately oily tufts of hair, wondering how to find the words to express himself to Lovino without frightening or irritating him further. “Lovi, _mi cariño_ , you are the love of my life, and I hate to see you suffer. I want you to be happy. You are pregnant, we are going to have a baby…I know it is hard for you to see this, even when you’re physically changing, but you have to believe that everything is going to be alright. I know you’re scared, Lovino, I know it, but you have to have hope. That’s all we can do right now, okay?”

Shaking his head just as tiredly, Lovino replied, “But I can’t, Tonio. I just…not yet. I can’t yet. And I don’t know…” the words struggled to flow out of his mouth, getting caught somewhere between his brain and his heart.

“Oh, Lovi,” Antonio sighed softly, much more gently, as he floated across the room delicately to wrap an approaching Lovino tightly into his arms. Lovino didn’t say anything, and he was barely even moving, choosing to go limp against Antonio’s body in a gesture of shame at his irresponsible actions. Antonio understood this, and he only drew Lovino in closer as he leaned down to gently kiss his ear. “It’s okay. I’ll have hope for you.”

\--

The communal calendar kept in the kitchen remained unmarked, but the personal calendars on Antonio and Lovino’s phones were each set with a reminder on the day. Antonio’s was simple and sweet, the word ‘ _Baby_ ’ with a vibration reminder set, while Lovino’s was a bit more blunt, the word ‘ _D-DAY’_ written in all caps with no reminder necessary.

Sixteen weeks and three days.

Antonio had just come back from a trip to the market on the day that it happened, toting home a reusable bag filled with fresh milk, cheese, and a few heads of romaine lettuce for a salad he was fantasizing about. It was a bit windier than normal, with many of the normal vendors, including the tomato farmer, not making it out to the market that day. Antonio saw no reason why the wind should hinder himself, however, so he made the journey regardless, the taste of fresh, locally raised food incomparable to store-bought.

The wind carried him inside with an alarming shiver, the house unusually silent and tepid. Normally by this hour Lovino would have woken up, showered, and tumbled downstairs to watch telenovelas at full volume (Antonio worried about him becoming hard of hearing, so whenever he was around he asked Lovino to turn it down). Today, it appeared to Antonio that Lovino had not even made it out of bed; the television was off, the kitchen looked the same as the way he left it earlier that morning, and there was no wet towel hanging on the bannister of the staircase. With hesitation, Antonio set the groceries down lightly on the table and called after Lovino without haste.

That’s when he first heard it. The sound was incredibly muffled from such a distance, but it sounded vaguely like something being strangled—whatever it was, it was enough to cause Antonio to rush up the stairs, tripping over his own gangly feet. “Lovino! Are you alright?”

The sound only grew more miserable as Antonio came closer. It was coming from the master bathroom, connected to the little room they shared together. The sheets were messy and crumpled, as Lovino normally left them, but something seemed different to Antonio. They were almost too perfectly messy, as if they had been purposely left that way. Turning the comforter over before he could even process the thought, Antonio gagged and felt himself take an involuntary step backwards as he noticed the massive bloodstain soaking through the sheets. With a ghastly chill taking over his entire body, Antonio managed to turn himself around and rush into the bathroom, knowing there was no way Lovino would have locked the door—not for this.

The strangled cry only got louder after he was discovered. Lovino sat against the wall facing his husband, his hands clutched tight against his stomach as he sat in the mess of it all. He looked far too weak to stand, let alone speak; he looked utterly broken. Antonio was normally a man of positivity, but even he was able to grasp the austerity of the situation—there was nothing he could do to fix this.

Shaking away the turbulent thoughts, Antonio brought his attention back to reality. He was here in their home, holding Lovino as they watched a movie together on the couch. The day had passed, as eventless as any other. Antonio didn’t go to the market, despite the fact that they were out of eggs—he figured it would be a bad omen, and he knew he couldn’t leave Lovino alone. Although the Italian was not normally the clingy type, perfectly comfortable co-existing with Antonio in their shared space, today was a bit different.

As the minutes on the clock continued to pass, fading slowly into the next day, Antonio rested his hands loosely on Lovino’s small baby bump, which had started to form regardless of the man’s firm opposition to it. Lovino shifted uncomfortably on top of him, but made no real effort to push him away, something Antonio took as a personal success. It seemed to Antonio that maybe hope would win out this time, after all.

\--

“Oh _fratello_ , isn’t this so exciting? Our babies are going to be twins too, almost! Except my baby will be the big brother and your baby will be the little brother! How cute! They can wear matching outfits and have playdates and eat pasta!” Feliciano cooed joyfully, rocking the table a little bit every time he moved due to his protruding baby bump taking up more space than Lovino could’ve imagined.

“Aww, that is cute,” Antonio agreed just as jovially, taking a sip of his fresh coffee before turning to flash Lovino an adoring smile. Lovino responded, in turn, with a glare that could only be described as his catchphrase, as the older Italian moved to grab another piece of biscotti and munch as happily as a glaring pregnant person possibly could.

“They’re not siblings, they’re cousins, _idiota_. Did you learn anything in high school?”

Antonio shook his head teasingly as the brothers bantered chattily back and forth. It was nice to see Lovino talking, even if it was just yelling at his brother. Even though the terrible day had passed, and even though Lovino was nearly halfway through with the pregnancy, he still seemed to have trouble accepting the fact. He didn’t want to start decorating the baby’s room; he didn’t want to do any shopping for the baby whatsoever; he didn’t even want to tell anyone for fear of their worst nightmare being relived. Indeed, it was a surprise even to Feliciano, as he came over fearing Lovino had ‘been keeping a terrible secret, like Antonio was dead and he killed him!’ after Lovino had rejected his calls for so many weeks. It was quite the shock to the bubbly little Italian when his big brother answered the door in a pair of lazy day sweatpants and an average cotton shirt that was stretched out at the waist, but more because Lovino was severely underdressed rather than he was expecting. Through all the tumult of the past few weeks, as the calendar pages continued to turn nearly to the end of winter, Lovino had somehow managed to not mention to his brother that he and Antonio were having a baby. It was a self-defense mechanism, more than anything, after having to handle the unbearable task of telling everyone the baby they were going to have was no more nearly a year ago.

Antonio wasn’t entirely sure what Lovino was waiting for at this point. He had told him that he couldn’t accept it, ‘not yet’…but what was going to convince him that this baby was coming? Surely he was more rational to not have to wait until he was on the delivery table to believe they were having a baby, wasn’t he? It was one thing to deny something you physically can’t see, but with a tummy that was bound to expand even further like Feli’s, who struggled to even buckle his seatbelt without discomfort, when would Lovino draw the line between fear and reality?

“ _Ma, che sei grullo_ Feli, hasn’t anyone told you how fat you’ve gotten? How many fucking sausages have you been eating? _Mio Dio!”_

Failing to even bother trying to stifle his cries, Feliciano burst into tears on the spot, crumpling over like a plastic bag on a busy highway. “Why do you have to say such a mean thing, Lovino?! I thought we were best friends!”

“Lovino! Oh, Feli, he doesn’t mean it…” Antonio tried hurriedly to comfort the sobbing Italian to his left, sending Lovino a quizzical look as he pulled Feliciano into a hug. “You just wait, the same thing is going to start happening to you soon!”

Lovino merely rolled his eyes and sipped his own chai tea latte without concern, easily used to offending his brother over the years. In response to Antonio’s assertion, he smirked off to the side, grabbed another piece of biscotti, and responded, “We’ll see about that.”

It wasn’t a terribly revealing answer, to Antonio’s disappointment, but it wasn’t the worst thing he could’ve said either—it seemed to imply that he at least came to some acceptance about the impending child. But still, Antonio wondered, was it really necessary to make Feliciano cry just to find all that out?

\--

And the winter passed and gave way to spring, which brought with it the promise of warmer temperatures and more in-season vegetables. Humming casually to himself on the walk home from the market, Antonio relished in the bask of the sun’s glow and swung his basket up and down, ignoring the stares of the pedestrians around him. Life wasn’t too bad, after all; Feliciano was due any day now, and he called nearly hourly to give them updates: “Nothing yet! Everything’s the same! I’ll let you know soon!” “STOP CALLING, DAMNIT!” Lovino was also doing well, bouncing along at 21 weeks with renewed complaints of swelling feet and too many blankets on the bed. Even if he wasn’t quite over the moon with being pregnant yet, Antonio knew it was coming soon—with the arrival of the sun, he was sure that Lovi’s heart would begin to warm once more.

When he stepped back into the house after a refreshing dose of sunshine, Antonio found his blood quickly run cold through his veins. The television wasn’t on; the kitchen was the same as he had left it that morning; there was no wet towel hanging on the bannister of the staircase. From above, a strangled-sounding cry. Antonio didn’t even have time to set the groceries down before he was running up the stairs.

Rushing into the bedroom, Antonio glanced first at the bed, which was, oddly enough, perfectly made; Lovino had taken to making the bed much more frequently as of late, which Antonio cheekily attributed to him nesting before being punched in the throat. He wasted no time turning the bathroom doorknob harshly, staggering in before it was too late, hoping that this time he could salvage the bones of Lovino’s broken body before he disintegrated before him.

The cry intensified as he was found, but it was combined with a motley of happy, childish laughter. Sitting in the same spot as he was a year ago, Lovino had one hand placed tightly on his baby bump, the other wiping away his tears as he laughed so hard he choked a little. “Tonio, come here,” he gestured quickly, extending a tear-salinated hand towards his husband.

Utterly confused, Antonio played along, grabbing Lovino’s sticky hand and falling to the floor beside him. Lovino moved the Spaniard’s hand to a distinct location of his stomach, right where his other hand was, and looked up at him in overwhelming expectation. Antonio didn’t get it at first, and he was just about to ask Lovi if he had lost his mind, when he felt it, as small and insignificant as it was—a kick. And then another. And another. A flurry of feet sent forth a melodious greeting to its parents, and with every kick Lovino released another tear, accompanied by more ringing laughter.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he commented breathlessly, as if he really, truly hadn’t known this fact until just now. “We’re really going to have a baby.”

Antonio let the tears fall freely from his own eyes, wrapping Lovino in his arms with glee as he rested his weary head on the Italian’s shoulder. They continued to hold hands right above Lovino’s baby bump, neither letting go for fear of it all disappearing before their eyes—but at this point, they were both assured that this was not going to happen. Letting his eyes close in pure bliss, Antonio breathed a heavy sigh of relief: _Hope had won._

\--

As it got warmer outside, Antonio and Lovino decided to have a picnic date by the riverbank. Antonio made a fresh batch of churros and melted Belgian milk chocolate to dip it in, a constant craving of Lovino’s nowadays. The two spread out lazily around their favorite spot, watching the dragonflies sputter around aggressively and taking in the sounds and smells of the spring fauna surrounding them. In contrast to the barren appearance of the spot at the end of last summer, the area had replenished itself; thanks to a steady supply of rain, soil, and hope, the grass was green and lush, the insects flourished in mighty forces, and the river moved along steadily in appreciation. Life was once again beautiful.

With one hand outstretched towards an open bottle of sparkling cider, its cork popped off somewhere in the grass, and the other interlaced with his Italian husband’s, Antonio felt no need to worry anymore. He glanced lovingly over at Lovino, who was dozing off once more, never one to miss a scheduled siesta even for a date. Antonio felt his cheeks heat up ever so slightly as he looked his Lovi up and down, noticing how the buttons on his dress shirt seemed ready to pop from being stretched out in the middle and how he had almost kicked his shoes into the river he was so eager to get them off, his foot pain being his number one complaint. Through it all, Antonio couldn’t help but find Lovino  adorable.

“What are you looking at now, huh?” Lovino grumbled tiredly at Antonio, whom he knew yet again was watching; when wasn’t he, after all?

“Just admiring my Lovi, that’s all, _mi amor_.”

Lovino groaned as he rolled over to face Antonio with only slight difficulty, his center of balance being slightly less predictable than it used to be. “Our child isn’t going to speak Spanish, bastard. I hope you know that.”

“Oh, Lovi, you’re so cute! Of course they will, but they’ll speak Italian too. Just like Feli and Ludwig’s little boy! He’ll be multilingual, too.”

“Don’t remind me that a blood-related Vargas will be speaking the universal language of potato bastards,” Lovino shook his head grumpily, trying to convince Feliciano for days now to only speak to his newly-born nephew in Italian. Ludwig curtly told him to leave them alone before hanging up the phone, much to Lovino’s outrage.

Just when he thought Lovino was gearing up to go on another anti-German rant, Antonio noticed his husband’s eyes glisten lightly as he peered over at the river. Softly, as if only loud enough to be heard if the wind carried his words, he remarked, “I guess you were right. It wasn’t dead here, it just needed some time.”

Breaking out into a wide smile, Antonio knowingly squeezed Lovino’s hand, pulling him closer together as he moved to rest his head on Antonio’s with a content sigh. As the wind blew gently around them, as if it too approved of Lovino’s curt thoughts, Antonio ruffled his free hand through Lovino’s hair and whispered, “And hope. Don’t forget about hope.”

_END_

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks for reading if you made it all the way down here. This is the first piece I've written in a long time, and I hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did.
> 
> I'm always looking to improve as a writer, so let me know what comments you have, if any.
> 
> You'll have to forgive my gratuitous use of Spanish and Italian, especially for accuracies--I'm not up to snuff on my romance languages. I think in general most of the words can be identified through context clues, like the Spanish petnames or Italian expressions of bewilderment. There are a few longer ones though:  
> nosotros vamos a tener un bebe: we're going to have a baby. This is a very rough translation and I'm not claiming it to be 100% correct in anyway. My Spanish-fluent pals are off on vacation, so they were no help.  
> Ma, che sei grullo: Are you crazy? It's a Florentine expression and Lovino uses it as a form of disgust.
> 
> Until next time! (sequel, anyone?)  
> -Emmy


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